The Regs
by Annerb
Summary: The regs are gone, so why is Sam not ecstatic? Sam/Jack
1. The Regs

Title: The Regs  
Author: Annerb  
Email: PG, mild language  
Summary: The regs are gone, so why is Sam not ecstatic?  
Classifications: S/J, Humor, POV  
Spoilers: None  
Season: Season 7ish?  
Archive: Yes, SJD and Heliopolis  
Disclaimer: The characters mentioned in this story are the property of Showtime and Gekko Film Corp. The Stargate, SG-I, the Goa'uld and all other characters who have appeared in the series STARGATE SG-1 together with the names, titles and backstory are the sole copyright property of MGM-UA Worldwide Television, Gekko Film Corp, Glassner/Wright Double Secret Productions and Stargate SG-I Prod. Ltd. Partnership. This fanfic is not intended as an infringement upon those rights and solely meant for entertainment. All other characters, the story idea and the story itself are the sole property of the author.

Author's Note: Special thanks to Montage and Starr!

Feedback: Always appreciated!

/The Regs/

You've always hated the regs. Okay, so hate isn't exactly strong enough. You despise them. Loathe them. You hate them so much that you once considered taking your anger out on your copy of the little black regulations manual. Contemplated tearing it apart page by page and then watching it slowly incinerate in a merry little bonfire in your backyard. It would be nothing more than a cathartic, feeble protest, but you were almost convinced that it might make you feel better for a little bit. After all, you absolutely detest the regs. If you are secure in the knowledge of one thing, it is that those stupid rules are to blame for absolutely everything wrong with your life.

Understandably, you are completely shocked when you realize how wrong you have been after all this time. You don't actually hate the regs at all. You love them. They are the greatest things in your life. In fact, if it were legal for a woman to marry a book rather than another person, you would be in Vegas in the blink of an eye. You are convinced that they are the most wonderful words ever committed to the page.

It only took you two weeks to come to this realization. The two weeks since you stood on a podium before a crowd of SGC personnel and made a very appropriate speech, with just the right amount of humor, about what a great commander Colonel Jack O'Neill was, to be exact. Two weeks since he learned that his knee had finally had it and that he would never be cleared for field duty again. Two weeks since he refused a job behind a desk, positive that he could never handle all the paper cuts. Two weeks since you became Lt. Colonel Samantha Carter, commander of SG-1.

Two weeks since you panicked at that thought of being alone with him for even five minutes and rushed out of his retirement party without even saying goodbye. All followed by two weeks of unanswered phone calls. Two weeks of telling Daniel to just shut the hell up and keep his nose out of other people's business. Two weeks of Teal'c eyebrow-ing you at every moment. Two weeks of trying to pretend that nothing has changed.

Two weeks. Fourteen days. Three hundred and thirty-six hours. Twenty thousand one hundred and sixty minutes. Not really a lot of time if you think about it. But it is long enough without the regulations in your life for you to realize that you absolutely love them and that you can't exist without them. Where are they just when you need them? You find yourself holding tightly to the little black manual, willing it back into your life.

Why do you love them so much all of a sudden? At first, you just can't say. They're just so nice! So clear and precise and easy to understand and easy to follow. With the regulations around, you never have to question the status quo, you never have to think of the right thing to say, you never have to worry about what will be said back to you, because the lines are carefully laid out in permanent ink. They are binding; they are law. They are unchangeable. They are simple and safe. You really are quite enamored of them. Unfortunately, your stalwart love seems to have abandoned you just when you need them most!

You really need them, too, because as the clock ticks towards eight, you know time is literally running out. Daniel has given up on actually getting you out of the house. He's finally gone to the extreme of inviting himself, Teal'c and one Colonel O'Neill, retired, over for a team/friendship/bonding night at your house. You seriously debate just not being there when they show up, but a quick glance outside confirms that Daniel isn't taking any chances this night. You can see him sitting in his car across the street, blocking your escape route. The damn man really does know you too well.

You can already feel the panic descending on you as you continue to clutch the manual to your chest. Part of you is aware how crazy you look, standing in your living room holding a book as if it were a shield. But the rest of you understands how much you need it and you really don't care what you look like. Daniel finally comes in as the clock chimes eight, putting a placating hand on your shoulder as you stand motionlessly in your entryway. He seems blissfully unaware of the high-pitched ringing sound that is beginning to give you headache. You assume that the sound must just be in your head.

Before you know it, all of your guests have arrived. You still haven't moved and now he's standing in your house, looking warm, handsome and so inviting. The chaos in your head is getting louder and louder and blackness begins to creep in at the edges of your vision. As you begin to pitch towards the floor, you are vaguely aware that you are having your first full-blown panic attack since you were a cadet. You're disgusted at your weakness even as part of you is fascinated by the physiological attack on your body. The mind really is a powerful thing, you muse. Little pinpricks of light invade your sight and then you find relief from the chaos in total blackness.

You're wide awake now and he's holding you, looking at you closely and you can tell he's wondering just what the hell is wrong with you. It's been two solid weeks since you've had any contact with him and now, upon seeing him for the first time as your not-commander, you pass out. You desperately want to confide in him, to have him hold you like this forever, but you are still dizzy and every instinct is telling you to run for your life. With complete dismay, you observe that you are still holding the manual and that it hasn't escaped his notice either. Funny that you didn't even lose your grip on it while you were passing out. He gently tries to take it from your hand, but you just cling tighter. He's never seen you this panicked before and you can tell he is beginning to be seriously concerned for your sanity.

Then it hits you, that you, Lt. Colonel Samantha Carter, scourge of Goa'uld everywhere, gun-toting, physics-rewriting, all-around kick-ass soldier, just fainted dead away at the sight of your best friend, former commanding officer, man-of-your-dreams. You realize in that moment just how messed up you really are. The transference of your affections to your beloved rules is also beginning to become clear. Where Jack is tumultuous, unpredictable and erratic, the regulations are simple, straightforward and completely unthreatening. With them, your life will always be on even-keel. You can't even begin to predict or understand a life without them, let alone a life with the man so gently holding you now. But suddenly, sitting there feeling like a complete and utter fool, you desperately want to know that life.

He's too surprised to stop you from dashing out of his arms and you're out of the room before he can even call after you. Not much time passes before you charge back to him, supplies in hand. Before he even has a chance to say anything, you push the items you have brought into his hands. He looks at you like you are insane, glancing from the little black manual to the can of kerosene. You hope that he can read the symbolism and understand that this is you letting go of the things that have held you back. It is time for you to burn in effigy the representation of your mindless fear of things unregulated. You hope that doing so will let you leave safety behind and step out into the unknown. Maybe he reads the hope in your eyes and after a long moment, you are convinced that he actually does understand.

He looks affectionately at you, grabs your hand and says, "Come on, Carter. We can have a nice little bonfire out in the back." You smile gratefully at him and after a moment of body-seizing panic, you finally get your foot to take that first giant step. As you take that fateful step, you realize that you have been completely wrong about the regs. You don't hate them and you don't love them; you have just always used them as a safety net. But now you are finally ready to let them go. Suddenly you are Sam Carter, flying without a parachute, and you can't wait to see how it turns out.


	2. Parachute

Title: Parachutes  
Author: Annerb  
Email: PG, mild language  
Summary: Sam's got everything under control, right? (Sequel to 'The Regs')  
Classifications: S/J, Humor, POV  
Spoilers: None  
Season: Season 7ish?  
Archive: Yes, SJD and Heliopolis  
Disclaimer: The characters mentioned in this story are the property of Showtime and Gekko Film Corp. The Stargate, SG-I, the Goa'uld and all other characters who have appeared in the series STARGATE SG-1 together with the names, titles and backstory are the sole copyright property of MGM-UA Worldwide Television, Gekko Film Corp, Glassner/Wright Double Secret Productions and Stargate SG-I Prod. Ltd. Partnership. This fanfic is not intended as an infringement upon those rights and solely meant for entertainment. All other characters, the story idea and the story itself are the sole property of the author.

Author's Note: Somebody out there asked for this sequel, so blame them:)

Feedback: Always appreciated!

* * *

/Parachute/

Okay, so flying without a parachute has a few drawbacks. Especially when you find yourself free-falling and the ground that is rapidly rushing towards you looks really, really hard. You know this can't be good. Sure, you had a nice little bonfire, very cathartic. You're cured now, right? Every little psychosis you've ever suffered just magically disappeared with the trail of smoke that rose lazily into the sky. Yeah, right. If only life were so simple.

You _had_ spent a nice evening with your friends, though, just like the old days. You even sat next to Jack, making real eye contact and everything. You remember being immensely thankful that Jack seemed to still care about you, even though you have proven to be a complete lunatic. He had smiled at you and squeezed your hand and promised to call, somehow aware that you would need to take this as slow as possible. He didn't even seem to care that you would both have to wait a little longer.

For some reason, however, rather than simply being glad and taking what life has offered you, some part of your brain seems to think it would be a good idea to see just how far his affections stretch. Or at least that must be what you are trying to do. What else would explain the fact that you stood him up for your first official date? And the second?

Tonight was supposed to be your third date. You have managed more than you did on the first two failed dates. This time you are actually dressed and ready to head out the door. The keys to your car are even already in your hand. But instead of exiting your house, you're sitting on the edge of your couch, wearing the dress you bought four years ago on an impulse because you just knew he would love it. Your nails are done, your hair is perfect, and you are wearing an amazing set of lingerie. So why, oh why, are you still sitting here?

Glancing at the clock, you note that you are already an hour late. You can only imagine his anger at being stood up yet again. He had been understanding the first time and quietly resigned the second. By the third, you know he must be losing all semblance of patience. You wouldn't be surprised if there wasn't a call to reschedule this time. You can't quite ignore the relief part of you feels at that thought. You realize then exactly what it is you are doing: attrition through absence. Or more simply, you are ignoring it and hoping it will go away.

The screech of tires as a vehicle pulls roughly into your driveway lets you know that you haven't quite escaped. After an impatient, loud knock he plows into your entryway, just as angry as you had imagined he would be. His anger dissipates quickly, however, as he stops short at the sight of you dressed to the nines, keys in hand, frozen on the edge of your couch.

He gently shakes his head and you can hear him mumble "Jesus, Carter," under his breath. You mindlessly muse whether you have stretched his affection too thin at this point. He reaches his hand out to you and gently says, as if he is speaking to a spooked animal, "Come on, Carter. Let's go get something to eat."

You simply stare at his hand, but make no move. Your mind, however, is working on double-time as your damn survival instinct kicks in and warns you away. What if it was just a stupid infatuation? What if he doesn't care about you as much as you care about him? What if you no longer have anything to say to each other now that you don't work together anymore? What if there really _is_ a black widow curse? What if you absolutely suck in the sack? What if he does?

Somehow, he knows you are thinking a thousand miles a minute, but luckily for you, he has brought with him the perfect cure for your overloaded brain. He doesn't try to talk to you, knowing that it is useless. Instead, he steadily closes the distance between you, taking time to let his eyes travel over your body and take in your dress. His gaze burns into your flesh and you can tell he appreciates the dress as much as you always knew he would. But now, with that predatory gleam in his eye, you wish you had been wrong. He stops in front of you, just short of touching you, but you can feel the heat emanating from his body. You try to swallow the swelling panic in your throat, but your mouth feels like cotton. Your brain continues to nag at you as if from a great distance, but you find yourself mesmerized and incapable of movement.

You try not to flinch as he reaches out and trails one finger lazily down your arm. The hair on the back of your neck is standing on end and you are sure that if you could actually tear your eyes away from his long enough to look, you would see goose bumps on your arms. Then he begins to slowly lean in towards you, his lips near your ear as he softly whispers, "You know that you're nuts, right, Sam?" His voice is soft and affectionate and you can feel his warm breath against the skin on your neck. Unable to suppress the shivers that are now coursing down your back, you simply nod and say in a breathless voice that you barely recognize as your own, "Yes, Jack." He chuckles softly at you and leans in closer to your neck. As his lips brush gently against your skin, your eyes drift close and a soft sigh escapes your lips.

Now you aware that you are kissing Jack. Can you believe that Jack's lips happen to be the perfect form of therapy? Somehow, you know you should have been smart enough to figure that out. But you find that your brain doesn't work so well when his lips are…oh my. After about five minutes of his lips working magic on yours he pulls back abruptly to look at you. There is a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes, but you can't quite bring yourself to be bothered. In fact, your mind is blissfully quiet and all you really want to do is drag him back into your arms. You lean back into him, but he steps away and waves a finger at you. With an annoying grin on his face, he grabs your hand and propels you towards his car. "Let's get this show on the road, Carter, before your brain turns back on."

You nod serenely, knowing at that moment that you would follow him anywhere. Still dazed, you half-heartedly wonder if you really need a parachute after all. Maybe all you really need is Jack and his wonderful, medicinal, therapeutic, magical lips. Yeah… that sounds pretty great.


	3. Cold Feet

Title: Cold Feet  
Author: Annerb  
Email: G  
Summary: It's been six months, and panic has a way of preying on you at the worst times. (Sequel to 'Parachute')  
Classifications: S/J, Humor, POV  
Spoilers: None  
Season: Season 7ish?  
Archive: Yes, SJD and Heliopolis  
Disclaimer: The characters mentioned in this story are the property of Showtime and Gekko Film Corp. The Stargate, SG-I, the Goa'uld and all other characters who have appeared in the series STARGATE SG-1 together with the names, titles and backstory are the sole copyright property of MGM-UA Worldwide Television, Gekko Film Corp, Glassner/Wright Double Secret Productions and Stargate SG-I Prod. Ltd. Partnership. This fanfic is not intended as an infringement upon those rights and solely meant for entertainment. All other characters, the story idea and the story itself are the sole property of the author.

Author's Note: Okay…people wanted a definite end and this just started pouring out. Maybe I should have named this "The fic that never ends." Never meant to have so many parts, but I appreciate everyone's comments and it is my pleasure to serve the reader:)

Feedback: Always appreciated!

/Cold Feet/

You've dated for six months. You can only imagine how many kisses it took to keep you together for that long. But against all odds, you have stayed together, a genuine couple. Non-work topics were discovered for discussion and the black widow curse seemed averted. On the bedroom front, well, neither of you ever really needed to worry about that. You close your eyes blissfully for a moment, contemplating a particularly wonderful memory from yesterday.

Six months, it's an amazingly long time to last without any major hitch. For a while, you were sure that nothing would ever happen between the two of you. It took a while, but you finally got it right. And you are thankful every day. Especially today, of all days. You can hear milling voices in the hall, guests waiting to be seated. Over two hundred guests, all eager to attend the wedding of the decade. You absently wonder if someone managed to get Thor and Bra'tac into the hall without too much difficulty or raised eyebrows.

You glance at yourself in the mirror once more, absently brushing away a non-existent piece of lint. You have to admit, even to yourself, that you look great today. But somehow, seeing yourself dressed up like this releases an avalanche of panic. _Not now!_ you scold yourself, but your brain, as usual, isn't listening. It's too busy listing all the reasons this is a bad idea. Why would anyone want to marry you? They would have to be completely insane! And why would you want to marry someone who was insane? This was a really, really bad idea you begin to realize. Your eyes dart around the room and you briefly contemplate shimming out one of the small windows in the back of the room. You could make it, you're sure of it.

The only thing that keeps you from making a break for it is the timely appearance of Daniel. You look up to see him watching you with concern. "You okay?" he asks. You nod silently, too scared that if you open your mouth you might throw-up. Daniel doesn't seem convinced and instead, he hands you a flask that magically appears from a jacket pocket. You quickly toss back some of the soothing liquid and smile gratefully at Daniel. He's here to tell you it's time, and that means your window for escape has literally and figuratively closed. With a deep breath, you follow Daniel out of the room.

"Cold feet?" Daniel asks you as he guides you into the chapel. "No way," you manage to say, your voice slightly strangled. This is the best thing that has ever happened to you and you know it. Now if only your gut would stop twisting and the warning alarms in your head would shut up for even five minutes.

Every head turns to stare at you as you enter. The place is absolutely packed and the room begins to swirl around you. You feel Daniel's hand gripping your arm and his steady voice in your ear, "Deep breath, just keep taking deep breaths." You suck in air like your life depended on it (which it actually does, you remind yourself). 'Buck up, soldier,' you silently scold yourself as the room finally begins to regain equilibrium. Now that the room is no longer moving around you, it is easy to locate all the exits.

You're about to abandon yourself to the panic and dash to the nearest door when the assembled crowd lets out a collective sigh. You look up to see what has caused such a reaction. Once glance is all it takes. Suddenly all tension and panic drains out of your body. All you can feel now is a swelling joy in your heart and a certainty that everything in your life has led you to this one, ultimate moment. You silently send up a prayer of thanks to anyone that might be listening that this would be your fate.

Soon the vision in white is standing by your side, her hand in yours. Searching her expression, you see nothing but certainty and love. You lean over to whisper in her ear, "I love you, Sam." She squeezes your hand and tries to hold back tears of joy. You both know that you have finally gotten your happy ending. Turning to the chaplain, you smile broadly, wishing you could just skip to the part where you get to kiss the bride.

The End

P.S. They lived happily ever after (with only minimal panic-attacks...:).


End file.
